


Agathe, like Dukat: Skinned

by BrokenBlade



Series: Agathe, like Dukat [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: F/M, What's love but a second hand emotion, What's love got to do - got to do with it, Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:01:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26724049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrokenBlade/pseuds/BrokenBlade
Summary: 'Skinned' is my response to an informal prompt after 'Caught'.I thought I was out of plot: all I ever meant to do was riff on 'Civil Defense' and write my fantasy sex with Gul Dukat.But my 'fantasy sex' manifested as injury and molestation on the Ops Floor, followed by stalking, kidnapping, and mind-blowing 'love fucking'.MaLady335 saw Agathe as'someone in conflicted distress'who wants to be'hurt/consumed/owned', to be'under someone else's control...an object for his use.'She thought it would be nice to see Agathe's'growth and dealing with this'.Wow! Talk about a challenge. Okay, so Agathedoeshave a fuller story to tell...therefore my originally-standalone 'Caught' has become a series leading to the deepest reason why this young human woman's "inner many-headed snake" writhes for Gul Dukat.So...here went nothing!
Relationships: Dukat (Star Trek)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Agathe, like Dukat [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946584
Comments: 29
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [melitta4ever](https://archiveofourown.org/users/melitta4ever/gifts).



> I know this isn't for everybody. It's pretty raw and emotionally heavy.  
> It's also me trying to figure out how to blend raw and heavy with sci-fi fanfiction. Not easy! 
> 
> This account includes a discussion about rape, as well as the (non-sexual) abuse of a child.  
>    
> Every time somebody leaves a kudos: I want you to know that touches me deeply. ❤ It makes me feel like - somehow - this story speaks to you. Thank you. ❤
> 
> For melitta4ever, who helped Agathe spread her wings and fly, after I pushed her out of the nest.  
> For MaLady335, who turned my face _**that way**_ , to show me what the hell I was actually writing about.  
> 

I needed to reschedule my initial appointment with you. You’re pretty solidly booked, so it’ll be a while before I can come in to talk to you. I’m certainly not the only person with problems. The good thing is, I can use the time to extend my account, write you a second one, give you more context. So that’s what this is.  
At the time I wrote the first account, I believed it would be my last – so I simply ended it in the post-coital embrace of Dukat/Apollo. _‘I just let him fucking hold me.’_  
Of course I knew he wasn’t Apollo. He wasn’t exactly a god, even if he’d brought me to orgasm multiple times in foreplay alone, addling my mind just enough to regard him as equal to a god. No, he was a mortal Cardassian man who drifted into a deep comfortable sleep after sex. We weren’t _in_ his bed, in the conventional manner. The bed was roomy enough for two people to lie across it fucking, as we’d done, and afterwards lie across it sleeping. I figured his accommodations were more generous than those enjoyed by the other men on his ship.   
The bed had a blanket on it, maybe two, I wasn’t sure, but we weren’t under them and indeed we didn’t need any. I’d heard that Cardassians prefer a warmer environment relative to other species, such as humans and Bajorans. It’s true! It was warm in his quarters, wow. I didn’t mind. My own favorite way to feel is ‘not cold’. Where I grew up on Earth – not so far from Starfleet Headquarters but further south – it doesn’t get very cold. In winter the temperature is usually moderate with no snow. Summers can get very hot. My favorite feeling was to walk outside knowing it wouldn’t be cold and I wouldn’t need a jacket. That’s what Dukat’s quarters felt like. Warm enough not to need a jacket or a blanket. Warm enough to be naked and comfortable.  
And _he_ was comfortable. I’d rolled him off me as he lost consciousness, having had enough foresight to know I’d suffocate if I got myself trapped under all his sleeping weight. So now he lay on his back, looking every bit as menacing as any beautiful sleeping child would. I mean, a sleeping Dukat, eyes closed, was something to see. His handsome face was the mildest of blank slates. You wouldn’t know he was capable of harming, or terrifying, or thrilling anyone at all. If you were his mother you could only gaze at him lovingly and kiss him softly. Which I did. I couldn’t help myself. I touched my lips to his forehead, to his cheeks, to his eye ridges, softly, tenderly. I’d somehow crossed into a parallel dimension of serenity with this sleeping man. What a gift.   
I lay softly cuddled into his side, my leg draped over one of his, my fingers idly strolling his rolling landscape of scales and ridges, looking, thinking. Thinking about his mother. Had he had one growing up? Had she watched him sleep when he was small? Did Cardassians do that? Had she checked on him in the night and pulled his blankets over him if he had kicked them off in his sleep? Had she blessed his cheeks with her love?   
What would Kira do if she got to watch him sleep? Would she just kill him? She was so tough. She’d be the type to fashion a meticulously designed shiv – a deadly one that she could sheathe and stash in her vagina, that she could deftly sneak out in the event she got into a really tight scrape and needed to cut a dude. But…Dukat wouldn’t have made it that far with her. She’d have ended him the moment he’d kidnapped her. But then…he wouldn’t have had the opportunity to do that either. He wouldn’t have been able to seduce her with his eyes across a lonely cocktail table, snake-charming her into licking his throat and sucking on him while he dry-humped her against a wall. She’d never even have been at that table, never have sought refuge on a dark balcony with a drink, things would never have gotten that far – never have gotten anywhere – nothing would ever have started in Ops with _her_.  
I remembered how Kira had looked at me after I’d bitten him and he’d discovered I was hot for him, then heard my name, then noticed me. She’d looked annoyed with me. I was sensitive to that look. I struggle to maintain self-confidence in the presence of strong women. I constantly worry that they’re mad at me, annoyed with me for speaking, for saying the wrong thing, irritated with me for _being wrong_. Kira is especially intimidating to me. Her eyes can be so fierce, so fiery. Her voice as well. She scares me when she’s angry. But not to the degree that my own mother scared me while I was growing up.  
I mentioned my mother in my last account. I called her the “dominant scary” parent. I don’t feel right talking about her so candidly, about my own mother. I don’t usually have good things to report. It makes me feel guilty to say anything, like I’m exposing her, betraying her. I find it easier to assign her a different title. I think of her as Hera, another god – a goddess – from ancient Greek mythology.   
Hera was married to Zeus, the father of Apollo. She was a jealous, rage-filled goddess, never forgetting an injury or a slight, real or imagined. She tormented and punished the guilty and blameless alike. The ‘guilty’ would be her husband Zeus. The ‘blameless’ were all the goddesses, nymphs, and mortals he either seduced or raped, both before and throughout his marriage to her – as well as the children he sired.  
One of these goddesses was Leto. She bore him Apollo and his twin sister Artemis, goddess of the hunt. I could maybe see Kira as the Artemis to Dukat’s Apollo. Kira would of course differ in the fact that she doesn’t reject men, but she would absolutely _never_ be sexual with Apollo. As for me, if my mother was Hera, then my own relations with Apollo wouldn’t be problematic.   
But I digress. Leto was blameless. She was already pregnant when Zeus married Hera. But Hera was all rage and no reason, making Leto’s life worse than difficult. She banished Leto from her home and sent the dragon Python to chase her all over the earth, forcing her to wander without shelter until finally landing on a desolate rocky island where she gave birth to her twins.  
My father was Zeus-like, he had affairs. Hera was angry and bitter and hated him. They fought. They screamed obscenities at each other. Hera threw pots and pans at him.   
When my father no longer lived with us, Hera turned her rage on me. Often it was loud. She would yell at me, percussively, violently. When her face darkened to a particular shade, I knew I should run – although invariably I’d end up in a corner somewhere where she’d catch me and seize my hair angrily in her taloned hand, yelling demonically through clenched teeth, through the rage that distorted her face.   
Her quiet anger was worse. When she was calm, I knew it was only the eye of a storm. She was like Dukat in his prerecorded warnings to the Bajoran workers. The threat was in the spaces _between_ her actions, in what she looked like she was _about_ to do. I learned to read her tension, read how she held her body, to read her face, read her voice. This was to guard myself. When I was six or seven years old, after my father had moved away, Hera began to slap my face out of nowhere. Out of the clear blue sky. Usually she’d say, _“I don’t appreciate your tone of voice. I am your mother.”_  
She slapped hard. I can hear it resonate in my head. I can feel it – sharp, sudden, painful, shocking. I learned to always read her and try to apologize very quickly if I detected a surge of danger – _“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”_  
  
_don’t hit me I’m sorry_  
  
So she’s Hera.  
  
This is upsetting to me. I need to take a moment and visit a more soothing reality. I cuddled into Dukat’s side while he slept. I wound my leg around his, I pressed my nipples to his ribs. My hand roved languorously over his body, recalling the pleasures of his textures to my mind. His scales. Oh god, his scales. I'd fallen in love with his most special place, where he was scaled, where his treasure met his body, where a human would have hair. I’d held my face there, licking him, nuzzling him. He was fragranced there. I can’t describe it with any words I know. Maybe there’s a Cardassian word for it, like ‘ _agat’_. Well, like _‘dukat’._ It was him, it was his fragrance. I loved knowing it, knowing that under his uniform, under his armor, he was _fragranced_ and I knew it by heart. His beautiful bed of scales meandered a little ways down the length of his treasure before demurely tapering out into sweetness, smoothness, so quiet, so good to me. I caressed him in this place while he slept, my fingertips memorizing his texture. They’d need to remind my tongue later, when it would think of him, think of licking him. I didn’t know if I’d ever get to lick him again.  
I remembered the last time…well…I don’t know if it was the last time, the last hug ever. It’s the last time I remember being watched by Hera while I hugged my father. She’d watch me when I was with him, listen while we spoke. I had to answer to her later, for everything. Everything I’d said. Everything I’d done. She would question me. And then she would tell me the specific reasons why my words to him were wrong, why my hugs around him were wrong. _“I love you”_ was wrong. I would say _‘I’m sorry…’_ so maybe she wouldn’t hit me. When she wasn’t spitting direct criticism, her messages were unspoken or intimated. I would read her face, her mood. I would read the subtext in her reminders of how horrible my father was to her. I’d hear the unspoken. _You should never say anything nice about him, let alone to him, you shouldn’t love him, because that means you think I’m dirt, I’m just a piece of shit. And I am your mother._  
I remember I hugged my father out in the hall, in the courthouse, where my parents divorced, where they returned for many custody hearings. My father was there, Hera was there, attorneys were there, strangers were there. I hugged him stiffly because she was watching. I don’t know if my arms were around him or not, I don’t remember. I hope they were. I loved him. I loved him always, even after I stopped saying the words. I hope I at least showed it that day by putting my arms around him, even if my body was stiff.  
I would dream of hugs. Dark, enveloping hugs. My face to a chest. I dreamed once of a boy in high school, Chris A., the older brother of one of the jerks in my own grade. Chris felt safe to me because he was older and ignored me. Most boys weren’t safe. They ridiculed me for being flat-chested. Like I wasn’t worthy to be sexually objectified. If they could’ve seen inside my mind they would have known I’d be fun. _‘Fun’_ like I was for Dukat. They liked my ass. A friend of mine told me. I’d been leaning over a table and the guys had eyed my ass approvingly, making remarks. It was nice to know. It was nice to know that _some_ part of my body might interest someone in fucking me, because I sure wanted to be fucked. Not by one of the boys, though. I wanted my teachers. They were men. They needed to shave.  
I’d dreamed I stood on the path leading to my house. Hera waited at the door, watching. Suddenly Chris stood before me. Chris was tall, much taller than I was. My head reached his chest. He usually wore a soft black long-sleeved shirt with a hood. He was tall beckoning darkness. My face descended onto his chest like water over the falls, into the depths of the dark. He held me. He held me and I knew Hera watched. I knew that as long as he held me, I wouldn’t need to enter the house. I began kissing him on his chest, moving up to his neck, to his lips. I was aroused, I wanted him. As long as he stood where he was, Hera wouldn’t see my desire for him – his body shielded it from her view. Nothing would rip me away. I carried that dream with me after I awoke. I still hold it in my depths. It was safety, it was arousal.  
Now my caresses aroused Dukat, my fingers awakening his sweetest place. I felt him harden under my hand, and he stirred. It excited me to feel his hardness growing like a healthy stalk in the fertile soil of our warmth and softness, in the belly of our naked togetherness. I let my body flow over his, like the water over the falls, my face into his neck, his fragranced neck. I found him and eased him inside me, kissing his neck. I let his body slowly break mine into song. It almost made me come just to have him inside me. It’s not so much the physical stimulation – just being inside isn’t generally enough for me, I’m more responsive to the rubbing – the kind he’s so good at – he had rubbed me with his hand, he had rubbed me with his treasure – but his being inside me was rubbing me emotionally, he stimulated me on a deeper level by being inside me – just the thought of him inside me makes my belly flutter so madly.   
We were so smooth together, so slick and so quiet. I felt his special secret scales as I slid over him, stroking his length, swallowing him, serenely, sleepily. He opened drowsy eyes and smiled at me, wrapping me in strong ridged arms, holding me, breathing steadily, softly, warmly. He glowed when he smiled. He was sleepy and came inside me again. I loved how he felt as he came, his pressing into me, his gentle spasms, his muted groans. I wanted to hold this forever. This felt like love to me.  


  



	2. Chapter 2

It had to end at last. Time and tide for no man stay. The sun must cross the sky each day. We had to part.   
He beamed us back to the station, this time outside Quark’s on the lower level. It was after closing time, the wee hours of the morning. I guessed it might have been about three o’clock. If so, I’d be due in Ops in five hours. So much for a good night’s sleep. Now I really didn’t know how I’d make it through the day.  
At least no one would witness my ‘walk of shame’. I allowed him to escort me back to my quarters. Of course I knew that wasn’t gallantry on his part. He was obtaining information, my location, where to find me. I knew that. I chose to show him. I wanted him to know where I lived. I didn’t care if that was unwise. I’d have him in my bed in a heartbeat if that’s what he wanted. I wasn’t afraid of him. Not anymore. I was only afraid to part ways, to see his departing back. I began to feel alone before he had gone. I was afraid to be with myself.  
I stepped through the door into my quarters, sorely aware that I lacked technical knowhow in being an adult about this. I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl. I’m far more active in mind than in practice. I knew, I knew better than to confuse sex with love. I knew. But I was already beginning to feel hollow, afraid I might cry. Shit. Would I never be able to deal with anything, ever?  
“Agat.”  
_Would I ever hear my name in his voice again? He had my name, he had it so good. His voice was so rich and deep, so male, so familiar. I loved him inside me. Why couldn’t his holding me be the end of everything?_  
I tried to teleport my emotions to a chair across the room, to detach it all from my eyes, so I wouldn’t powerlessly bare my weak heart to him when I turned to look at him. I needed to feel like I was whole, like I wasn’t crumbling to pieces. Shit. What had he done to me?  
I turned. This was ridiculous. He was just a man standing in the doorway. Nothing more, nothing less.  
“Come kiss me goodbye, Agat.”  
I went to him. Just a few steps. He took my chin and held my face the way he’d held it in Ops, on the floor. But he held it gently this time, only firmly enough to hold me in place as he leaned in to my lips. I closed my eyes, memorizing as much of him as I could, storing his pattern in my heart. After he broke the kiss he brought his mouth to my ear and murmured, “I had fun. I’ll look for you when I’m here again.”  
The memory of his breath tickled my ear as he strode down the corridor and turned the corner.  
  
_Fun_.  
  
Okay.  
  
  
  
Well, I hadn’t died. I’d made it back. Back to my own surroundings, back to my stuff. And if I was honest – well – at this moment a certain physical sensation was more bothersome to me than any itching of the soul I may have suffered earlier, craving his return. I had let the man release himself in me, twice. Gravity was not my friend right now. I would need another shower.  
But I hadn’t anticipated the sight of my face, let alone my naked body, in the bathroom mirror, in the light. The eyes looking back at me reminded me of Julian’s when he’d seen me in the infirmary. _Holy shit._ What had happened to me? I looked pale, gaunt, haunted. Dark circles under my eyes. This kid Louie had made fun of those years ago. In school, when I was about ten years old. My life had been sectioned and distributed between Hera and my father, unevenly but scheduled, prearranged, court ordered. Every other weekend with him, plus every other holiday, Tuesday afternoons after school, and three weeks in the summer. Each visit followed by grueling interrogation by Hera, followed by punishment – though the interrogation and punishment were court prohibited, rather than ordered.  
So I was tired, as a girl, and had year-round dark circles under my eyes. Louie said they were deep. They looked like “ditches”. He could “wash his hands” in them. Well, I guess he had imagination. He probably wasn’t wrong, if those circles had looked anything like the ones I saw now, in the mirror.   
I’d barely eaten yesterday. The doctor had told me to eat.   
  
Yesterday.  
  
_Oh my God Justin wouldn’t be in Ops today._  
  
Oh no. No, no. I needed him. I needed my friend. I needed someone who knew me.   
  
_Oh, God._  
  
It finally hit me. I burst. I pressed my hands to my face and cried, in the bathroom. No one would tell me it was wrong. No one would even see. And it wouldn’t have mattered. I’d lost him. I cried for him.  
  
It had been so easy with Justin. I’d felt so free with Justin. He had liked me from the beginning. I’d never felt like I needed to be prettier to be friends with him. Never felt like I’d tricked him into liking me. He had just liked me. Had he – had he _like_ liked me? He might have. Dax might have seen something. She’d told me once that we were cute together.   
He’d had a silly nickname for me. He’d called me ‘Agatcha’, like ‘I gotcha’. It was so sweet because it meant he’d accepted my name as it is. Me, as I am. _Agathe._ He’d never acted like it was so different, so unusual, so difficult. He’d never made a big deal out of it. He’d just learned it and used it, called me by it, fashioned a pet name out of it. My actual name. Had that been love? It had felt so good.  
I remembered yesterday, mutely watching Dukat across the Ops table, so confident, so in his element, so collaborative, so accepted into our group. He’d taken Justin from me. And then he’d leveled me and fucked me and planted his flag in me. And _he_ had spoken my name so sweetly.   
My chest, my breasts, they were fucked up. The mirror didn’t sugarcoat it. His armor – he’d been grinding and thrusting on me _so hard_ , _I’d loved it, I’d loved_ how he’d slammed me like that. He’d kissed my marks! It had been his first kiss on me. I hadn’t felt the pain when I was with him. He’d been a detonation on my body, in my body, so powerful, so devastating – just as I’d wanted him – I’d lost my awareness of pain. He’d fucked the pain away. He’d hurt me and then fucked it away.  
  
_how could I hate him and want him and be angry at him and love him_  
  
I was sobbing now, hands to my face, trying to hide from myself, from the mirror. The doctor. I wanted him. I needed him. I was hurt, I was so hurt. And this fucker’s sperm was in me. I needed to go to Julian.  
  
_Okay but first a shower. Come on. Let’s get in there._  
  
It didn’t make sense, but I was determined to be ready for work in just a few short hours. Less than a few. I was determined to not look like shit. If I took a shower and let my hair air dry while I slept a little, and then got up and drank a fucking strong cup of coffee and put on makeup, then I could look alive and I could go and I could work. I could do it.  
At least if I could sleep a little, maybe I could do it.  
I didn’t know if I’d be able to sleep. Even a little. I wanted to. I didn’t want to lie alone in the night, alone with myself, alone awake. I wanted out. Out of myself. 

  


  



	3. Chapter 3

I walked into Ops at oh-eight-hundred hours. As I crossed to my usual duty station, it came to me finally, why the hell I was here. Why I’d washed and painted and animated my lifeless form for this, to show up, to drag myself in. I’d shown up so I could get myself dismissed.  
  
I crossed to my station and felt _her_ eyes on me, watching.  
I would need to talk to Kira. She did the scheduling. To be dismissed from my shift, I’d need to go through Kira – strong, fiery Kira.   
  
In my exhaustion I felt dumbstruck, paralyzed. It’s how I had felt in Hera's presence. Cornered, paralyzed, tongue-tied. Defeated before I began, began anything. Aware that she was already irritated with me, aware because I could read it in her, feel it in her. Aware because I could hear it from her too – she would spit the words. “ _You can’t be relied on for anything, except to aggravate me. I can rely on you to stress me out.”_ She’d focus her quietly blazing, stone hard eyes on me. Her jaw immovably set, her lips thinly pressed in her tension. Calmly angry. All systems nominal. This is how she was. This is how Hera was.   
God help me if I needed to ask for something out of the ordinary. Forget about wanting anything. ‘Want’ was a valid reason for nothing, ever. ‘Like’ even less so. ‘Like’ was stupid, ‘like’ was spoiled. ‘Want’ was desire, ‘want’ was selfish, ‘want’ was wrong. ‘Need’ – now _‘need’_ I could maybe make a case for. A good one – it would have to be airtight. If I could sufficiently argue my case _before_ I asked the question, maybe my petition would be granted. _Maybe._ Hera was all rage and no reason – frequently even my most careful arranging of logic wouldn’t work, and it would be time to run.  
  
Arguing my case required me to draw breath, gather my courage, unstick my lips, look her in the eye, speak, speak up, speak clearly.  
I would need to walk over to Kira, look her in the eye, address her in the appropriately respectful tone of voice, argue my case, make my request. Speak up, speak clearly.   
  
And maybe, I hoped, maybe I wouldn’t need to. Maybe my face would make the case for me, my haggard, tired face. If I looked tired enough maybe I wouldn’t have to convince her of my need. Tired was valid.  
But tired was also careless, unprofessional. She might be angry with me for showing up for my shift looking like shit. I’d tried not to. I’m good with makeup. But my hair doesn’t always cooperate.   
  
Well, logically I’d make her angry regardless, one way or the other. Might as well just – go do it. Go talk to her.  
I faced my duty station and took a deep breath, gathered myself. I turned, ready to walk over to her – and found that she’d come to me, she was standing at my shoulder.  
  
“Agathe, what are you doing here?”  
_oh it’s my hair, I look like shit, I’m sorry I’m sorry_  
  
What was I doing here? What did she mean by _that?_ That was not a question I’d programmed myself to answer. The values were hard coded in. I work in Ops, it’s eight o’clock, I’m here.   
I didn’t have words for her. I stared at her, trying to read what she was specifically unhappy about.  
  
_“Agathe, honey.”_ She pressed a hand to my shoulder.  
_huh?_  
  
Her voice was soft. Her eyes were warm, not hot. She’d called me ‘honey’.   
She wasn’t angry. My eyes instantly watered, I was so relieved.  
  
She saw that. Now the heat entered her eyes and they hardened. She spoke with low-voiced intensity.  
“Agathe, _I swear to you_ if I’d seen him hurting you I would have killed him on the spot.”   
  
  
_oh my god_  
_oh my god_  
  
  
I’d forgotten. I’d been so scared of her I’d forgotten. I looked past her – I could see the little sort of walled off area, the floor… _oh my god_ …  
I realized I wasn’t breathing. My hand was over my mouth. My neck was so tense. I froze like a small animal again.  
  
Kira was watching me. Watching my face.  
“Wanna know how I feel, Agathe? I feel like _hunting him down._ I don’t know what he did to you, but _I know he did something_ and he hurt you and now I want to hunt him down and _kill him._ ”  
  
_goddess of the hunt_  
  
Why hadn’t she felt that way about Justin? He’d killed Justin. Less directly, but still…  
  
She put a hand to my cheek, warmly, like a mother would.  
“You didn’t have a very good night, did you? I don’t see how you could have, after what he did to you, whatever it was. You don’t need to be here, Agathe. I’m dismissing you from duty. I want you to go take care of yourself, get some rest. I’m ordering you back to your quarters. Listen to me, Agathe – please, take all the time you need. Don’t come back until you’re ready.”  
  
_What?_  
  
She’d been convinced of my need. I’d made a case for it and persuaded her. How had I done that? What were my arguments? It wasn’t my exhaustion. It wasn’t my appearance. What had been my winning argument?  
  
_It was what he had done._ _What he’d done_ had made my case for me. What he’d done had been bad enough to win it. And she didn’t even know what he’d done.  
  
_Had_ it been that bad? Bad enough to win my case?   
_Had it really been that bad?_  
  
He’d fucked me. He’d fucked me so good. He’d fucked me for Kira. I looked at her.   
_Kira, he wants you, I know how he burns for you. He showed it to me last night, he kissed me, he fucked me, for you, he fucked me with his desire for you, his need for you._  
  
I was so messed up. I was so fatigued. I didn’t know up from down. Kira wasn’t mad at me. Hera wasn’t there. He’d fucked me. He’d fucked me over. I was crying. I didn’t feel it starting, but I noticed the tears rolling down my cheeks, I heard my shaky breathing. I was crying in Ops. I was crying in front of Kira, in front of everyone. Everyone could see. I hate to be seen crying. Oh God.  
  
He’d said he would break me. He’d said he would break me in Ops. Well, it was complete. I was broken, broken in Ops.  
  
_This wasn’t what he’d meant, though, was it?_  
  
He hadn’t meant _all this_ , through to now, he couldn’t have. Nobody could. I was overthinking it. People always say I think too much, I overthink.   
  
I’d called him a _‘sick fuck’. This_ would make him a sick fuck. All this. Through to now.  
  
This would make last night… Okay, no. Just no. _NO._ No fucking way he could have orchestrated it all the way through to this moment. He didn’t know me. He didn’t _really_ know me. He hadn’t known what he was touching. He hadn’t known what he was fucking.   
  
But the doctor knew. Julian. I needed to go to him.  
“I need Julian,” I whispered.  
Kira hit her combadge. “Kira to Bashir. Where are you?”  
His voice. “In the infirmary, Major.”  
She squeezed my shoulder. “Stay there. I’m sending Agathe to you.” 

  


  



	4. Chapter 4

The last thing Julian had told me yesterday was that I should “eat something and rest.” I’d eaten something. But he could see I hadn’t rested.  
“Agathe, didn’t you sleep at all last night? I should have given you a sleep aid. I don’t know why I didn’t. Forgive me. Tonight you’re taking something.”  
He was just turning to go retrieve what he wanted to give me, when he caught a second glimpse of my eyes.  
I didn’t see my eyes, so I can’t name what he saw in them, but I know my intentions were swirling wildly. Pleading and hesitating. Beckoning and withdrawing. Whatever that looked like to him, it stopped him in his tracks.  
  
I needed to talk to him. I needed to show him.   
Locking eyes with him, I spoke so only he could hear.  
“Julian, I need to talk to you privately.”  
He glanced around at the room. The only other person visible was a Bajoran nurse.   
He moved. “Come with me.”   
  
I followed him around a curve to the other side of a workstation, to a bed somewhat isolated from the others by a partition which hid us from the rest of the room.   
This was good.  
I touched my fingertips lightly to my upper chest. I focused on his eyes.  
“I need – I need one of your shirt things. One I can open. I have to show you something.”  
He nodded. “Wait here, I’ll get you one.”   
  
He brought it to me and stepped around the partition while I took down my top and removed my undershirt, and yeah, the bra too. What the hell, he’s a doctor. It was just my body, my bruised body. The shirt thing opened in the front. I felt cold, the way I always do when I need to undress and wear this kind of thing. Exposed, too - they never cover adequately. But that was the point. I drew it closed as much as I could and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to feel warmer.  
  
“Julian.”   
He stepped into my space again.  
I searched his eyes. Soft as they were, this would be difficult.  
“What is it, Agathe?”   
His eyes were so open, so dark, so warm.  
  
I started to release the shirt thing at the top. Revealing the upper part of the damage, the first. Watching his eyes. They were a mirror window, reflecting what he saw while also revealing his feelings about what he saw. They told me he hoped the damage didn’t extend lower down, but he knew that it did. Knew it because I couldn’t speak. Knew it because I was uncrossing my arms, allowing the shirt thing to fall open as it willed. Knew it because he was looking at my chest, my breasts. Looking at Apollo’s passion and artistry.  
  
He hissed in a sharp breath. _“Agathe!”_  
Touching gently, carefully, with warm fingers. Sensitively.   
“Agathe.” Looking in my eyes, pained. “ _What happened?_ ”  
Watching me struggle for words. Eyes brimming with color, cashmere concern.   
  
He moved his hands to my upper arms, holding me behind my shoulders. He was very close to me. He probably shouldn’t stand so close to me. He should probably keep more distance between us. Professional distance, doctor-patient distance. But I don’t mind when he crosses that line a little. He’s so gentle it never feels like a breach. It never feels wrong. Please don’t say anything to him about it.  
  
“Agathe?”  
I dropped my eyes to his chest.   
Barely whispered. _“I was with Dukat.”_  
He needed me to repeat that. I did so, more coherently.  
  
“ _Dukat?_ When?”  
“Last night.”  
“I thought you went to your quarters.”  
“I did. But then I went out. He found me.”  
  
“He _found you?_ What the hell was he doing here?”  
“…finding me.”  
“Oh, my God.”   
He seemed at a loss for words for a few moments.  
  
“Where did he find you?”  
“At Quark’s, upstairs. I just…I wanted a drink. I didn’t want to be alone.”  
“But how did he know you were there?”  
“He – somehow he knew to ask Quark about me. You’ve seen me there, I go every week. He just…he just got lucky. He paid Quark to let him know if I showed. And then he… _found_ me. Upstairs.”  
“Is that where you were when he – did this?”  
  
_slamming into me against the wall, grinding his hungry cock against me, I’d wanted him, he’d felt so good, I would have dropped to my knees for him, he could have had me right there on the balcony, he could have had me in my mouth so hard_  
  
“Agathe? Did he do this to you upstairs?”  
“At first.”  
“At first…where else?”   
A reasonable question. I didn’t want to answer it.  
  
“Agathe? Where else?” I felt him connect a dot. “Where else did he take you?”  
_not in my mouth…he didn’t take me in my mouth_  
I wanted to slow this down. This was…a lot.  
_“Where did he take you, Agathe?”_  
  
_to his chariot…_  
“I didn’t know he would do it. He took me…to his ship.”  
“His ship – he took you – directly? Transported?”  
I nodded. _He’d held me, I’d seen orange, he’d taken my hand and led me to his quarters…_  
  
“Did anyone see this?”  
I shook my head.  
“So no one knew you were with him?”  
“Quark knew. I mean, if he’d thought about it. He heard us from below. I mean…”  
  
“What did he hear?”  
_how could I explain what he’d heard?_  
“We were…making noises. We were…” I didn’t have words.  
“Was he forcing himself on you?”  
  
_maybe…_  
“…no…not exactly.”  
Silence.  
“Agathe.” Firmly gripping my arms. Lowering his voice.   
_“Did he force himself on you?”_  
  
I looked up at his eyes. They were so close to mine. They were…my God they were beautiful…  
_Of course he’d forced himself on me. Of course he had._ _Of course he had._  
The truth crashed over me in waves out of Julian’s eyes, the absence of menace in his eyes was the truth, the open warmth of his eyes, it was truth, it was truth, _of course he’d forced himself on me._  
  
I had to tell him, I came here to tell him. I dropped my eyes again, afraid, so afraid. I needed him to stay.  
_Julian._  
I saw my hands had gone to his chest. I think they wanted to bond with him. I watched my hands, I spoke to his chest.  
_don’t leave me don’t leave me_  
  
_“Julian, he had me.”_ I whispered.  
oh my god, this hurt  
just say it – quickly   
_“He had me. He came inside me, Julian…”_  
  
He moved his hands to my wrists. He held them. His hands were warm. Mine clung to his chest. I watched them. I watched my hands, his hands.   
He breathed so close to me. If I’d looked up now I could have kissed him.   
“My God. He raped you.”  
_don’t say it like that_  
  
“No. No, he didn’t. He was just rough. I wanted it like that. I _wanted_ it, Julian.”  
“Agathe…”  
Convince him. _“I wanted it, Julian, I wanted it rough!”_  
“No, Agathe, you didn’t – you didn’t want it like that. _He raped you.”_  
  
_“No.”_  
“Agathe, Agathe. _Listen to me._ ”  
In emphasis, he squeezed my wrists more intensely, the motion pulling my hands against him more firmly.  
“ _He kidnapped you._ No one knew where you were. He had already hurt you. You were terrified. You had nowhere to go. _You had no choice._ You told yourself you wanted it so you could survive it. But you didn’t want it. It’s not your fault, Agathe. _He raped you._ ”  
  
_Had he?_  
  
It was true that he’d kidnapped me. There’d been nothing I could do. I couldn’t resist, I couldn’t get away, I couldn’t fight him. I’d figured he’d kill me if I tried. I remembered thinking I’d die – _‘or something’_ – my subconscious belief was _‘die’_ but I hadn’t wanted to accept it. I remembered thinking that if I gave in, _‘it wouldn’t kill me to die’._  
I remembered touching him, kissing his collarbones, wanting to stop.  
I hadn’t wanted to go on, to have sex. I’d wanted him to hold me, to comfort me, help me, pause, hold. In desperation I’d put my arms around him. I’d wanted to hold him and _‘sink into the warm night’_ – what was that if not a metaphor for escape – if not death – oh God I _had_ been terrified, more terrified than I’d known. I’d realized I was _‘more alone than alone’._  
My one recourse, my one retreat, had been to advance – to have sex with him. To have sex with him and like it, want it, need it. So I’d done it. _God help me, I’d loved it._  
He’d helped me along by pulling me onto his lap so I could grind on his dick and come in his arms. _My God, that had been good._ And he had been holding me. And I had gathered his face into my neck.   
  
_but rape?_  
  
_if that had been rape I didn’t want to know it._  
  
I wouldn’t lick the throat of a rapist. I wouldn’t grind and come in the lap of a rapist. I wouldn’t lick and kiss and suck the beautiful treasure of a rapist. I wouldn’t crave for him to take me in my mouth, a rapist. He wouldn’t kiss me and taste my _‘agat’_ and probe me with his tongue and nibble me. A rapist. He wouldn’t fuck me so good, a rapist, he wouldn’t fuck my pain away. I wouldn’t want him back. I wouldn’t want him to come and fuck me more, a rapist. I wouldn’t, I _couldn’t_ want that. He wasn’t a rapist. He didn’t rape me.  
  
_“No,”_ I moaned.  
Urging me. “Agathe, it’s not your fault, it’s not your fault.”  
_“…no…”_  
Whispering. _“…he raped you…”_  
  
_‘Rape’_ was too far. Julian was going too far. He had to stop. He was hurting me. Julian would never hurt me, never, _he would never hurt me._ But now he was going too far.   
I wanted to look up, look into his beautiful dark open eyes, look and plead with him, _stop, stop, Julian, stop._ But his eyes were danger to me. His eyes were truth. If I looked in his eyes I would see what he was telling me, I would _see it._ No menace in his eyes, the truth would wash over me, it would wash me away.   
  
_Don’t look in his eyes, look at his hands, look at his chest._  
  
I would die if my head wasn’t on his chest now, his chest was safety, I had to reach it. I tried to reach it, he was close to me already but needed to be closer. I opened my knees to make room, to bring him closer. I drew in to him, to touch my head to his chest, a little above my hands, just below his collarbones. He held my wrists. As I pulled in to him my nipples brushed the backs of his hands. I felt him react – a faint gasp, a slight shiver.  
_“Agathe – ”_  
We struggled a little, just a little, I was trying to draw closer to him, he was trying to push me back, the opposing forces only pressing my nipples against his hands, more urgently, more pleadingly.   
  
“Please, Julian, please,” I begged him. Breathing it, _“Please…Julian…”_  
_“I shouldn’t, Agathe,”_ he managed, barely.  
_feel my nipples, Julian, feel them, hold me_  
_“…please…”_  
  
I knew he was feeling them. I moved a little, the barest fraction, just enough that they spoke to him, emphasized themselves to him, he could feel it – but infinitesimal enough that he could have imagined it, I could deny it, I could deny that I knew what I was doing.  
  
_cross the line Julian cross it_  
_“…please…Julian…please…”_  
  
He gave in a little, sighing my name. He gave in, filling the space between my knees, releasing my wrists, taking me in his arms, holding me tight, one hand on my hair, pulling my face to his chest, folding me in to himself.  
_“Agathe, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t do this,”_ he breathed.  
_yes yes you should – cross the line – help me forget – help me not know_  
  
Whispering, his breath angry on my hair. _“How could he hurt you Agathe…he doesn’t deserve to touch you…someone so beautiful…Agathe…”_  
_I’m not beautiful – you say I am but I’m not_  
His chest was dark. It was safety, it was arousal. I began to breathe faster.   
_I would suffocate if he didn’t take me and make me not know, oh Julian…_  
  
I had to have him, I had to.   
I took him, I had him in my head, in my mind. I took him in the dark of my mind, on his chest.  
  
It was so easy, so natural. My lips raised themselves to his neck and began kissing him, so dark in his neck, so hidden. I kissed him all over it, my lips tasted his shadow, the shadow under his chin where he shaved, he smelled so good, so clean. I raised my hands to his hair and wove it through my fingers, it was dark, soft. I pulled his face to mine and kissed his lips – they gave themselves to me, we kissed, our lips so warm together, so wanting, so right.  
He deepened the kiss, he deepened his hug, he hugged me down onto the bed, onto my back, in his arms, in his kiss. It wasn’t this bed, it was a different bed, one we wouldn’t fall off of, one we could hide and love in.  
In this bed we were naked, we’d never worn clothes, we’d never needed any. I was okay with my breasts, he never judged them, he wouldn’t even need to touch them, I was so aroused. He could come in to me, forget my breasts – but if he wanted to touch them, he could – his touch wouldn't bruise. He could kiss them too, but he could just go ahead and have me, I was so ready for him, _he could have me_.  
He felt with his sensitive fingers, _yesssss,_ testing to be certain I was wet for him, ready for him, he’d never proceed until I was ready for him. He was so kind, so good, _come in come in…_ He felt me with his doctor’s hand, his hand that could read my body and whisper to it.  
  
_come in to me Julian – I’m ready for you – let me make you feel good let me show you – I’m wet I’m hot I’m soft – come in, come in_  
  
I felt his safety, his healing safety, he slid it into me and stroked me with it, _ohhhhh_ so good in me, so safe in me, I savored the length of each sliding stroke, _mmmmm_ he healed, with his hard safety _ohhhh yessss, Julian_ , _Julian…_ his name was soft, his name was care, I breathed it to his gentle healing strokes, _ahhhhhh Juuuliannnn_  
  
_his weight so light, so lovely on me, so caring on me_  
  
In my mind his body heat increased with his effort, his ministrations in me, so earnestly he moved, he helped me, he helped me not know anything, not know anymore. He was hot, he perspired, his sheen was beautiful. He was light he was clean he was care, he cared for me. I fingered the hair on his head, it was damp, he was sweating. I played with his dark wet curls while he continued urging and pushing his safety inside me, staying with me, caring for me, healing me _deep_. I brought my mouth to his jaw and kissed it and tasted his gentle sheen, his gloss. I pulled his lips to mine and kissed him as he cared for me, _mmmmm,_ he was hot, he was hard, he was _good_.  
  
Now I heard him rasp my name, for real, in a breaking whisper – it happened – not in my mind. He moved my head back a little, gently by my hair, so he could see my face. I looked, I glimpsed his eyes for a moment – enough to see beauty but not to see truth – he brought both hands to my face and tilted it up to his, he pressed his lips to my forehead, warmly, hungrily. He didn’t kiss, he stopped short of a kiss. He held my face against his lips, trembling, breathing shakily through his nose, not kissing me. He broke this off and wrapped his arms around me again, tightly. He laid his cheek on my head, I felt his uneven breaths on my hair. My face was in his neck, my lips on his skin now, it was my turn to somehow not kiss him, _oh God how_ , I felt his dark shadow, it was warm it was scratchy, oh God how would I not do this, not kiss him. We were hugging now, my arms around him, clinging, we pressed ourselves to each other, trembling, resisting, not kissing, somehow not kissing.  
  
My lips disobeyed us, whispering against his shadow. _“…please…please Julian…”_  
Breathing into my hair. _“…no Agathe…we can’t, we can’t…”_  
  
_I know it believe me I know it_  
_I don’t want you to cross the line – you wouldn’t be Julian_  
_please cross it don’t cross it_  
  
I know he shouldn’t hug me and stroke my hair. He shouldn’t whisper my name as he does. I know he shouldn’t care for me in this way, I should never lead him to press assurances of his safety inside me as I want him to. Who would he be if he did that? Wouldn’t it break me if he wasn’t Julian?  
  
_then let’s just stay…let’s just stay…let’s just breathe here together…let’s just be safe_  
  
But I was holding myself so close to him that my soreness finally reminded me what I had been showing to him in the first place. I pulled away from him, enough to expose my breasts to his eyes again.  
“Julian.” I looked down at myself, then up at him. He understood the indicating gesture, briefly shutting his eyes in a quiet grimace. One of his regenerators was within reach on a surface near the bed – his hand fumbled for it and closed on it. He activated it and began tending to my damage. I was thinking it was too bad I didn’t have one of those, I could probably do this myself – though it wouldn’t be the same, not nearly. His other hand held me behind my shoulder, his forehead almost rested on mine, his breathing pulsed peacefully over me. I let myself float in his quietness as he ministered to me.  
I sensed that neither of us wanted the repair to be entirely finished. But he’s a thorough man and I’m intelligent, even if I easily lose my mind. One of us had to cut us loose. I’d momentarily glanced past my breasts, past his hands – I’d seen his pants – it seemed the cutting would fall to me.  
At length he dropped the device onto the bed at my side. His newly free hand warmly enveloped the nearest breast, swollen with the fullness of how I felt with him, and now he did rest his forehead on mine. “Is it feeling better?” He stroked his thumb over my nipple, slowly, a soft lingering tug, just one, one stroke, one tug, just one brimming expression of intimate caring, no more, no further.   
“I’m afraid it is,” I breathed. “Thank you, Julian.”  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm...I think maybe something doesn't quite add up about Agathe's story here...


	5. Chapter 5

It was then, before I left the infirmary, that Julian told me I should seek you out, book a time with you, talk to you. I knew he was afraid to offend me by suggesting I see a therapist. He needn’t have worried. I understand it, from my parents’ divorce. It was court ordered. I get it.  
He also addressed the matter of contraceptive injections. I don’t really feel like getting into that, it’s personal. But it needed addressing.   
I haven’t been that active, sexually. As I said, it’s more in my head than in practice. Maybe – no, forget maybe, definitely – it would be different if I felt more desirable, more alluring. I’d be bolder. I’d get all that activity out of my head. I’d fuck guys. I think I would. Maybe not. Maybe I’d still feel too broken even if I felt beautiful enough.  
Dammit this can be so hard to talk about. Write about.  
I didn’t tell Julian that I let Dukat walk me to my quarters. I was afraid he would order me to get my quarters reassigned so I couldn’t be found so easily. I wouldn’t have disagreed with him – I mean, I wouldn’t have disputed his rightness. I don’t disagree with the things he tells me, that are right. But it’s like the smart part of me is outside myself – there’s the part of me that knows better than the rest of me, knows how to guard me and care for me and look out for me – but the rest of me is where I am, I live _in_ myself, and I _don’t_ want to guard myself because that’s hard to do and it hurts, and the wrong things feel so good, and I’m weak and I’m crying and I’m starving and I can’t _not want_ what I _need_.  
I scheduled my initial appointment with you – the one that’s been postponed – and then took a week or two, maybe more…several weeks?…to write my first account. That was much harder to do than I thought it would be. It interfered with my job. I mostly work with software, with the station’s systems. Describing that day, just that one day – _that one night –_ with Dukat – it stirred things up in me, so many things, things I hadn’t known were there. It was almost a second detonation inside me, a second overpowering of myself. I felt alternatingly sad and fucking horny, or both at the same time. I would steal away periodically, to a secret place I’ve found on the station, a place where I can…you know… _help myself out._ Release some pressure, some tension, some fucking _need._ I really hope you know what I’m talking about.   
Anyway, my daily work is demanding on my mind, it requires that I think clearly, logically, methodically – but also creatively – it’s crucial that I be able to _imagine_ , to make connections between abstract ideas. That’s what programming is. I could barely do it. I was burned out. I hardly slept. I felt so raw, so stirred up, so fucked up, such a mess. I wondered if I was doing the right thing, to relive that fucking day, _that fucking night_ , in order to write about it. I still wonder. Whenever I close my eyes I see him, I see Dukat, _I see his eyes_ , I feel him, I feel his scales, I smell his fragrance, I taste him, I want to kiss his little nose ridge, I want to suck his treasure.  
I don’t know how I feel about him.  
No – that’s dumb. I just said how I feel about him. It’s obvious how I feel about him.   
I showed him where my quarters are.  
That’s how I feel about him. 


	6. Chapter 6

I don’t know when exactly it was, relative to the time that I’ve been writing about. It was after Julian had given me your name. And it was after I’d finished writing my first account. But which specific day it was, I can’t be sure. Maybe that means I've tried to put it out of my mind. I do know I was off duty and it wasn't my usual evening to get a drink. I was in for the night, reading.  
  
He visited the station and came to my quarters.  
I heard the chime. I wasn't expecting him. I didn't feel like getting up. I called, “Come in.”  
I looked when I heard the door open. I saw him standing in the doorway, casual, relaxed.   
Dark, handsome.   
_Was he really there?_  
  
“Hello, Agat.”   
He smiled. He glowed when he smiled.  
  
I released the breath I’d been holding – maybe for weeks I’d been holding it – with a smile of my own.   
“Hi.”  
  
“Come in,” I remembered to welcome him. I stood.  
I didn’t know if I should move toward him. I felt a little awkward. I felt like I was expected to take my cue from him.  
  
He stepped in. He crossed directly to me, he took my face in his hands and tilted it back, he brought his lips to mine and kissed me warmly, deeply, reunitingly. My stomach dropped through the floor. _Oh my god._  
  
I wound my arms around his flared neck and kissed him back, receiving him, inviting him, relearning him.  
  
_it had been too long_  
  
I felt my body running warmups, preparing for song.  
  
He drew back from my lips, holding my face, looking, smiling, considering.  
  
“Come over here.”   
  
Animated with controlled enthusiasm, he pulled me to a wall and pushed me against it. Not forcefully, just intentionally.  
Okay, so it seemed he was really into this - he'd only just gotten here - already backing me into a wall, assuming his godlike position at the forefront of my existence, asserting his power over me, watching me bend to his will. I’d written about it, I’d described it.   
Did he want me to resist? I didn’t want to resist. I was here for it, all of it. Whatever he wanted, I’d go with it. Was that too easy? Did he want more of a fight? I’d gotten over the base fear for my life.   
  
“You’re beautiful,” he told me with his voice, affirming it with the hot menace in his eyes. The menace didn’t look like it lied to me. I could believe I was beautiful to him.   
“Thank you for saying that.”   
“It’s true.”  
“I think _you’re_ beautiful,” I returned the compliment. I mean, _fuck me now,_ but that’s how I felt about him.  
  
He seemed to be thinking about my words.   
  
“Do you?”  
  
“I do. I really do.” _Just look at me, I’m drinking in the sight of you, my eyes are singing for you._  
  
His eyes roved over my body, was he drinking me in too? It looked like he approved.  
  
“Agat, take your shirt off for me.”  
  
My eyes lost their voice for a moment, instantly shy.  
  
“Take it off. Let me see you.”  
  
_so long as he touches me – if he touches me it’ll be okay – if he’ll touch me_  
  
It was a regular shirt, I’d changed into comfortable clothes. I pulled it over my head.   
I looked at him. The bra, too? Yes, of course. I took it off, dropped it to the floor.  
  
_i’m exposed…please throw me on the bed…i’m skinned for you…cover me…breach me_  
  
Could he see the nervous beating of my heart? My shallow, tremulous breathing? Did my face look stricken, uncertain?   
I think he liked it.   
  
“That’s good, Agat.” Still smiling.  
  
He took my face in his hand again and held it – like in Ops but gently, as when he’d said goodbye. He kissed me, I kissed him back, any part of me he touched, I would return to him, I would give to him. I would give him _myself,_ as long as he’d take me.  
  
He took me with power in his other hand, he took possession of me between my legs. He gripped firmly like he held title to me, I was his to hold, I belonged wholly, solely, to his strong hand.   
  
I groaned, I pressed into him. Damn, the armor. I’d forgotten about it, why was that still on him? I hadn’t felt it against my naked breasts before, that was new. I didn’t like it. But my preference was inconsequential. His lips and his hand were my world now.  
  
Pulling off me to speak, a fraction, a millimeter. “Do you like this, Agat? Do you?”  
“oh god yes… _yesssss_ …don’t stop! _I’m yours, I’m yours…_ ”  
Against my lips. “Tell me.”  
_“I’m yours…”_ moaning into him.  
  
He kissed me, he wove his tongue into my mouth, it was delicious, we tongued each other, when would he invade, invade me completely, take me, take me…  
He rubbed me, expertly, masterfully, his thumb in the right spot this time, not like on the floor, _ohhhhhhhh god don’t let me pass out before he can open me and push himself in and devastate me with his treasure_  
His thumb, his thumb asked me did I like it, _oh fuck yes, fuck yes, more than anything, more than life, oh gggoddddd_ control me _I’m yours to control and destroy_  
  
The thing on his wrist, it chirped at him. The communicator. Whatever the hell it is. It needed his attention, it got it, he looked at it.  
He didn’t smile at it. He rolled his eyes.   
Looking at me again. Sighing with impatience, shaking his head.  
“Well, there’s a problem. I’m needed back. I have to leave.”  
  
_had that been translated correctly?_  
  
He placed his hands on the wall to either side of me, above my head, looking down at me intently. Not very far down, I’m not that much shorter than he is.   
I raised my swirling eyes to his, to his menacing beauty.  
“Agat. I’ll be back. I don’t know when. But I will be. I want you to think about me while I’m gone. Will you do that for me?”  
  
_only until you show me how not to_  
  
I nodded.  
  
“Tell me.”  
Whispered. “I will think about you.”  
“Will you?”  
Stronger. The truth. “I will think of nothing else. You are everything. I want you.”  
  
Smiling. “Good, Agat. I’ll see you.”  
  
Turning, walking to the door, letting it open, stepping through, striding away.  
  
He’d never touched my breasts.  
  
He’d only watched me skin myself. He’d only looked. He’d only seen.  
  
Leaving me when I’m skinned is not a great time to leave me.  
  
But he didn’t know that. He didn’t mean it. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know who he fucked. He doesn’t know how I feel, how I fear that someone who sees my breasts won’t want me and will leave me.  
  
He doesn’t know it.  
He wouldn’t hurt me like that.  
He wouldn’t hurt me.  
  
_Would he?_  
  
I rolled my body over against the wall, so that I faced it, and then I slammed the side of my fist and my arm into it, hard, a number of times, a great number of times. When I’d punished my arm enough I sank to my knees on the floor, tucking my head over them, inhaling my own hollow huddled darkness, muffling my hunger, my rage.  
  
My god I wanted him.  
  
_My god, I wanted my god, my dark and glowing god._  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  



End file.
